Los Angeles’ History: the Whittington Photo Collection.


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“The “Dick” Whittington Studio was the largest and finest photography studio in the Los Angeles area from 1924 to 1987. Specializing in commercial photography, the Whittington Studio took photographs for nearly every major business and organization in Los Angeles; in so doing, they documented the growth and commercial development of Los Angeles. Clients included Max Factor, the Broadway, Bullock’s, and May Co. department stores, the California Fruit Growers Association, Signal Oil, Shell Oil, Union Oil, Van de Kamp’s bakeries, Forest Lawn, Sparkletts Water, CBS, Don Lee Television, Goodyear Tire and Rubber, real estate developers, construction companies, automobile, aircraft, and railroad companies, and drive-in theaters. Another notable client was the University of Southern California, which contracted with the Whittington Studios for coverage of athletic and other events. The collection consists primarily of roughly 500,000 negatives; the rest are photoprints.”

George Mann’s Bunker Hill, 1962


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A remarkable group of photographs, of old Bunker Hill, 1962, is online. The images were shot by George Mann (1905-1977) an entertainer, vaudevillian and photographer.

The neighborhood, flattened in the 1960s for redevelopment, replaced by corporate skyscrapers, was elegant 100 years ago, then went into a long, bohemian, rooming-house decline. Its eccentric Victorian architecture and oddball residents were no match for the governmental and business power brokers who were determined to obliterate it.

A note: I rented a DVD with the 1961 documentary “The Exiles”, about Native Americans in Los Angeles, and it had a fantastic 1956 USC film about Bunker Hill.

Come to the Vista Hermosa Park.


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Just NW of downtown Los Angeles, at 100 North Toluca Street Los Angeles, CA 90026, the Vista Hermosa Park is a new, 10 acre park, landscaped with native plants and trees, walking trails, picnic areas and playing fields.

The park also offers unparalleled architectural views: brand new schools, gigantic playing fields, arched concrete bridges, Disney Hall, downtown Los Angeles’ skyline, and historic Victorian houses.

For those who are terrified of downtown and the inner city, I can also attest that the park was one of the most clean, civilized and gracious places I’ve seen in LA. There were no barbecues, graffiti, loud music, litter, mattresses, illegal dumping or the usual markers of urban abuse that infect our city.

Construction: Colfax Avenue Bridge, Studio City.


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On August 1, 2007 a Mississippi River bridge collapsed and killed 13 in Minneapolis, one that utilized the same design as the now dismantled Colfax Avenue Bridge in Studio City.

The City of Los Angeles – Department of Public Works – Bureau of Engineering, is now constructing a new crossing over the LA River.

Their website description:

“The scope of this project consists of replacing the existing Colfax Avenue steel-truss bridge, consisting of one traffic lane over the Los Angeles River, with a new concrete-arched box-girder bridge. The new arched box-girder bridgewill be approximately 28 feet wider than the existing bridge to accommodate one traffic lane, a 5-foot-wide bike lane, and a 7-foot-wide sidewalk on each side of the new bridge, as well as including a 10-foo-wide painted median.”

The estimated costs (paid for largely out of Federal money) is 5 million dollars. Completion will be sometime in 2011.

Photos show an old, steel pedestrian bridge adjacent to the site where the new concrete bridge will be located.

The Silent Generation Speaks.


Frances and Paul Cohen
Paul Cohen is interviewed by Dr. Gerald Fecht.

One of the characteristics of the men and women who fought in WWII was their general inclination to privacy after they returned from the battles.

Last week, Dr. Gerald Fecht of the Museum of the San Fernando Valley interviewed my 89-year-old Uncle, Paul Cohen, about his experiences in the Army. Paul fought on Leyte Island, Mindanao and Okinawa. He earned a Bronze Star and other medals and returned to Chicago to join his wife, Frances and raise a family. Later on, he brought his family out to California and settled in the West Valley. Today, Commander Paul heads Post #603 of the JWV of the VFW.

In 1941, he worked, scooping ice cream at Chicago’s old Goldblatt’s Department Store, when the war began. He was drafted and trained at Ft. Sheridan and later in Oregon. Some of his stories involved the building of a baseball field in the jungles of Mindoro, making ice cream for the soldiers, and constructing make shift showers out of oil barrels and rope. His tongue, burning with history, recounted sitting on a hill and watching the firefight of the battle of Midway. Moments in time: chilling, funny, touching, heroic, and sometimes infuriating.

Not easily does Uncle Paul speak of that painful epoch of bloodshed, loss, sacrifice and brutality. He did so, in the hope that his generation’s actions on behalf of democracy will be remembered forever.

I am in the midst of a project now, to collect stories, take photographs, and record video of the Jewish War Veterans of the San Fernando Valley, who were part of the many men and women of all races, religions and creeds who battled Fascism and preserved the world’s freedom for our generation. These old soldiers are in the last months and years of their lives and it is critical, I believe, to try to beat the clock to preserve their stories, faces and memories.

Glassland: A Photo Essay.


I rode the bus and the train to downtown Los Angeles today. And later sat, with feigned enthusiasm, for a job interview inside a concrete-floored, high-ceilinged art gallery.

The subway exit was 7th and Hope. The weather was violently windy, blindingly sunny. White fluffy clouds tore fast across the sky. I walked into a shimmering, sparkling, glassy, washed and Windexed world of brand-new, spotless, sleek, shiny and radiant glass towers.

I was in an area east of Staples Center, south of Olympic. Yet its structural newness and callow glibness felt like jejune, milk-fed, blond-haired, salty-breezed San Diego.

Amidst the asphalt, glass, steel and aluminum, I discovered a fair-sized green-park surrounded by tall, right-angled, balcony faced skyscrapers.

Inside the grassy park: an estrogen feast.

Women students from a nearby fashion college, FIDM, smoked cigarettes as they sat along benches and on top of concrete walls. Brimming with energy and youth. A parade of citrus perfumes, vanilla scented shiny hair, shaved and polished slender legs owned by naïve young faces.

Laughing, running, hurrying.

At an empty retail space, intended for future yoga use, I stopped to talk with a workman, renovating and cleaning. He told me he stood on the sidewalk everyday and watched these gorgeous girls walk by.

“90% of them are hot,” he said.

The strong winds continued as I reached the gusty corner where the art gallery stood. Next door, I discovered a Danish bakery where the smell of butter, fruit pastries, chocolate-topped cookies and hot coffee blew out onto the sidewalk.

I arrived at the appointment an hour early, so I continued walking around the neighborhood and found more newness.

Epic spic and span newness.

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It was Noon, here in downtown Los Angeles, and there were few cars and almost nobody on foot.

Buildings reflective, orderly, tidy: landscaped with fabulously colored flowers, prickly succulents, willowy grasses and rows of upright young trees, water fountains, and little pocket parks unpopulated with humans. Amidst this constructed urban paradise were rows of empty benches.

A wine bar, with outdoor seating, was open on a corner. And not a single person occupied any seat.

A great concept, a superb image, a winking nod to richness, that’s what they built around here.

Those great hypes, of 2004 and 2005: the unlimited prosperity, the exploding stock market, the cheap money, the hustle and con of the hucksters who sold America real estate, stocks, derivatives, credit. These empty, fresh, unfilled, immaculate, twinkling edifices of glass, these are tactile creations and hard monuments of a false and corrupt national binge. Blessed by tax breaks and corporate lies. Unpunished by Washington. Unconscionable billions for bail outs.

Now these resplendent, lustrous buildings sit here, underused and unfulfilled, their once loud voices and enthusiastic promises of urban excitement, muted.

This is just one district of downtown Los Angeles: a great glassy area of spacious, broad streets and tall, unspoiled, spotless, reflective vertical condominiums.

Like everything in this city, it starts out young and full-of-promise.